The Blake Adventures: A Storybook Ending
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Slightly AU: Lucien and Jean solve mysteries together. Here, the mysterious death of a librarian is connected with a number of thefts in town. But how?
1. Chapter 1

**The Blake Adventures: A Storybook Ending**

 _April 1960_

Lucien Blake awoke slowly, the sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains of his bedroom. He blinked a few times, trying to orient himself. He caught a glimpse of the clock at his bedside and was surprised at the hour. He rolled over to find the other side of the bed neatly made up. Curious as to the reason for all of these things, Lucien got out of bed and dressed quickly.

When he went down to the kitchen, he found Jean cooking a full fry-up at the stove. She sensed the movement and turned to greet him with a big smile. "Lucien! Good morning," she said brightly.

"Good morning, Jean," he replied politely. "What have we here? Is there some holiday I'm unaware of?"

"No special reason. I just wanted to make you a nice breakfast is all."

"I didn't mean to sleep so long. Won't I be late?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Your only appointment today rescheduled. Mrs. Foster asked if she could come in a few weeks instead, since her children are out of school for the week of the Easter Holiday at the moment. I told her it shouldn't be a problem and wrote her in your appointment book."

"Thank you, Jean."

"And since you don't have anything for today, I thought I'd let you have a nice lie in. You didn't come to bed until awfully late last night, and you need your rest," she pointed out.

Lucien smiled and kissed her cheek. "That was very sweet of you, love."

"The Morning Edition is on the table for you. Charlie and Mattie did have a look at it before they left earlier, but I did try to put it back in order. You sit down, and breakfast will be ready in just a moment." Jean went back to mind the stove as Lucien made himself comfortable.

He sat and opened the front page, slightly rumpled as it was. He was actually quite surprised that the morning bustle of Mattie and Charlie getting ready for work didn't wake him. "It was quite nice to sleep. I am sorry I was so late last night, though."

"I know how preoccupied you can get," she said understandingly, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Quite right. Though I did get through what I wanted last night. It looks I do have a very free day today. How daunting," he realized, eliciting a slight chuckle from her. "Jean, do you have any work to do in the garden today?"

"There are a few plants that need a bit of tending, yes," she answered dubiously.

"I'd like to be of assistance to you, if I may. Perhaps I can remember some of the names of your beautiful flowers this time," he offered.

Jean placed a plate of eggs and toast and ham in front of him. "You are too sweet." She kissed his cheek and promptly wiped the lipstick off him. "There, now you eat up and I'll do some cleaning, and we can go out to the patio and see what needs doing."

Their domestic day was quickly cut off before it began. The phone rang, and Jean went to answer it so Lucien could finish his breakfast. She came back quite quickly. "Lucien, that was Constable Hobart. You're needed at the library."

He took one last bite of toast and a final sip of coffee before standing up. "Right. Should have known a free day was too good to be true," he said resignedly. "Ah well, duty calls. I expect I'll be back later for lunch." And with that, he fetched his bag and put on his hat and went on his way.

Upon arriving at the public library, Lucien found the strangest juxtaposition of chaos and quiet. There were two enormous bookshelves toppled over, their books scattered all over the floor. But the police officers and small handful of witnesses were speaking in hushed tones, barely above a whisper. Perhaps it was the natural, ingrained response to being in a library.

It took Lucien a moment to realize why he'd been called in. There was a body lying amidst the piles of books. He didn't wait for Charlie or Bill Hobart to tell him what was going on. He went right to the body.

The deceased was a woman, likely in her sixties. She wore the most dour clothes Lucien had ever seen: tweed skirt and heavy stockings and starched white blouse in the middle of spring. And her graying hair was matted in a pool of blood.

"Ah, Dr. Blake, you're here already."

Lucien turned to see Chief Superintendent Carlyle walking toward him. He, unlike everyone else, was speaking at a casual and regular volume. "Frank, yes, Hobart called me a short while ago."

Carlyle nodded and stood near Lucien, but out of his way. "You have a cause of death pinned down?"

"Upon initial viewing, it looks like a blow to the head. But I'll need to examine the body further to determine whether she was struck, or if she just fell and hit her head."

Charlie came to join the two men. "This is Mildred Arnold. She's been a librarian here for over thirty years. No family. She was supposed to close up last night, and she was the only one here, so far as anyone knows. Miss Parget came to open the library this morning and found the doors unlocked and Miss Arnold in this state."

"Yes, based on the level of rigor, I'd say she died sometime last night. Charlie, could you arrange for the body and inform Dr. Harvey that I'll meet her?" Lucien asked.

"Of course, Doc." Charlie went off to make his calls.

Lucien had no reason to suspect anything more than a librarian getting knocked over by a bookshelf, so he didn't linger at the crime scene. But it was suspicious that the bookshelves should have fallen over at all. He stepped over a pile of Agatha Christie books and made a general survey of the library.

He'd spent a lot of time in this place as a boy, but it had been many years since he stepped foot in the Ballarat Public Library. Very little had changed in forty years. Unconsciously, he'd found himself in the nonfiction section. These dusty old books had been his first real introduction to science. His father had always told him that if he was curious, he should read books in the library. Thomas Blake had all the medical texts in his study, but wouldn't let young Lucien touch them. To this day, Lucien cherished those books, still not quite feeling worthy of them.

"Doctor Blake, we're going to be transporting the body now," Charlie told him.

"Right. Thank you, Charlie."

"I hope we didn't wake you this morning," he said in a quieter voice. "Jean told us to be very quiet."

"No, I slept through everything. I was just finishing breakfast when Bill called for me to come down. It was very nice of you all to let me rest," Lucien thanked kindly.

Charlie just gave a curt nod. "Well, this shouldn't be too complicated, so I'll probably be home for lunch."

"Yes, I think I will, too. Jean's been in a strangely good mood today. I think we might be in for a nice treat later."

"I think that has more to do with you than me, but I'll be happy for whatever comes of it," Charlie agreed.

Lucien then left to go to see Alice for the autopsy. Together, he was sure they'd be able to figure out whether Mildred Arnold had been pushed, struck in the head, or had just fallen down. It didn't look like murder so far, but Lucien wasn't satisfied.

"The body arrived just before you did," Dr. Alice Harvey stated, not wasting time on pleasantries.

"The librarian died in the library, all alone. And I'd like to whether or not someone did this to her," Lucien said.

Alice nodded. "Well then, I think we should get to work."

They examined the body in excruciating detail, as they always did. They found slight bruising on Mildred's temple and some on her arms, torso, and legs, but it was the crack in the back of her skull that had killed her. Lucien requested her prior medical records, to see if some condition she'd had contributed to her death in any way. But getting that file would take a little time.

"Based on this bruising, I'd say she was hit across the head from the front, causing her to fall, and cracking her skull on the wood floor of the library killed her."

"And how would you explain these other bruises?" Lucien asked, hoping they'd be able to come up with an explanation between them.

"From the fall?" Alice guessed.

"I think the bookcase and all those books might have fallen on her. But the police didn't move anything off her, and she would have been knocked unconscious by hitting her head this hard, so she didn't move anything off herself," Lucien thought aloud. "Whoever knocked her down might've tried to help."

"Hm. Trying to rescue her? Showing remorse, perhaps?" she ventured.

Lucien didn't answer right away. His mind was churning with the implications of that idea. "Perhaps."

"It's nearly one o'clock now. I'm going to take a lunch break and come back with fresh eyes. You're welcome to join me," Alice offered.

"Thank you, Alice, but I told Jean I'd be home for lunch."

"I'll call if I find anything else," she told him.

They each went their separate ways, both consumed with the strange unanswered questions of what exactly had happened to Mildred Arnold.

Lucien went home to find Charlie already there having a sandwich Jean had made for him. "Ah, Charlie, tell me, anything new from the library?"

"No one seems to know what might have happened. No reason the bookshelves might have fallen. No one knows much about Mildred Arnold, so we have no reason to suspect foul play, or any motive of anyone to hurt her," Charlie relayed.

"Alice found bruising on her face, so she might have been hit and knocked to the ground," Lucien informed him. "But no obvious suspects?"

"Not a one. And fingerprinting is a waste. It's a public library. There are dozens of fingerprints on everything in there," Charlie told him with disappointment.

Jean had sat at the table, listening to the men discuss the case. Her brow furrowed, thinking about what could have happened to that kind old librarian. "Were any books missing?"

Charlie turned to her with surprise. "I have no idea. There must be a hundred books strewn all over the floor."

"If someone was in there to get a book and Mildred caught them by surprise, maybe they panicked and knocked her down," she suggested.

"It was the mystery section," Lucien told her. "But that's a very good idea, Jean. Charlie, make sure someone checks with the library records to see what's been checked out and what inventory should be there."

"I'll let Bill know. He's on this case. I'm still following up with the theft cases."

Jean perked up. "What thefts?"

Charlie sighed, "It's the strangest thing. People keep reporting thefts of items that shouldn't have any value to anyone except the owners. Family photographs were taken from the living room of the Kelly house. Mr. Thompson's coronet is gone. An old gray horse is missing from the Walker farm. There's no reason they should be connected, except that they all happened in the last week. In a town like Ballarat, there shouldn't be that many missing things all at once like that."

"Hmm." Jean didn't say anything else.

Lucien watched her, knowing she was thinking more than she'd said so far. "I think I'll go back to the library after lunch. Jean, would you like to come with me?"

"Yes, I rather would."

Charlie stood from the table. "I'm going to head back to the station. I'll see you all for dinner."

Lucien finished his sandwich, then drove Jean and himself back to the library. Most everyone had gone, save Chief Superintendent Carlyle, who was none too pleased to see them.

"Blake, how many times do I have to tell you that you can't bring your wife to a crime scene!" Carlyle lamented.

"Frank, you like my methods because they get results. This is one of my methods," Lucien insisted. He took Jean's hand and walked right past the chief superintendent.

He led her right to the fallen bookshelves. "Alright, we're in the mystery section. You have a theory."

"Well I can't be sure, I haven't read those stories in quite a while but…the items Charlie said were stolen…they seem like they were taken right out of Sherlock Holmes stories."

Lucien cocked his head slightly, trying to remember those old mystery stories. "Remind me," he prompted her

"Well, the gray horse, that's Silver Blaze, the racehorse in the story. And then the coronet, that's The Beryl Coronet."

"And the family photographs from the Kellys?"

Jean had to think for a moment. "A Scandal in Bohemia. Irene Adler had stolen photographs from the King of Bohemia."

Lucien smiled. "You are brilliant."

"Yes, that's all well and good, but where does that lead? The thefts might be connected by Sherlock Holmes, but why would that cause the death of a librarian?" Jean asked.

"Alright, you be the thief. You have some fascination with Sherlock Holmes. You're recreating the mysteries as best you can in Ballarat."

Jean took over. "And I need to look back at the stories for more inspiration. I come to the library. Mildred notices I keep going back to this section. Perhaps I don't check out any books but I keep coming back."

"You're worried about arousing suspicion. Mildred comes to see if you need help because it's closing time," Lucien added.

"And I'm afraid of her knowing too much. I push her and run away."

"No," Lucien corrected, "You hit her across the head with the book. Mildred falls to the ground, hitting her head."

"And I push the bookcases over so she can't get up, and I make my escape," Jean finished.

"But you pick some books off of Mildred, you didn't want anyone to get hurt. And the book itself. Do you take it or leave it amongst the others?"

"I think you'll need to see an inventory list to be sure. Based on what I remember, those stories are all rather far apart in their publication. If they all came from one book, it would have to be a complete collection of Sherlock Holmes," she considered.

Lucien called out behind Jean, "Frank did you get that? We'll need an inventory of this section of the library to see if there's a Complete Sherlock Holmes missing." He smiled at his wife. "Well done, Jean."

She grinned at his praise. This wasn't the first mystery she'd helped him on, not by a long way. But being appreciated for any contribution she could make did feel quite good. Even so, there was still much unknown about this case.


	2. Chapter 2

The Blakes left the library and returned home. Lucien didn't have much more he could do until he heard from Alice. He wanted to work through the case a little more. And he did want to help Jean with her flowers, if he could.

"You're sure you don't want to read Sherlock Holmes stories all the rest of the day? It might help give some inspiration. I don't remember much beyond the main plotlines of most of them," Jean admitted.

"We were going to have a day of gardening, and that's what I want to do," he insisted. He was pleased to see her smile at him for that.

She had him hand her gardening tools as she repotted her begonias. He wasn't much help, but she liked having him there. He liked to stand just a little too close to her, brushing up against her far too often to be innocent. "Lucien!" she scolded as his hand came to rest around her hip.

"Am I in the way?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

Jean nearly blushed. "No, I suppose not. But Mattie will be home soon, so don't be taken by surprise," she warned.

"Seeing as you're my wife, I don't think I need to worry about where my hands are in my own house." To make his point, he let his hand drift to her backside and give a light squeeze. Jean yelped and nudged him in the chest with her elbow as she laughed.

Inside the house, the phone rang, ruining their flirtation. Lucien made to go in to answer it, but it stopped ringing almost immediately. The reason soon presented itself. Mattie came out to the patio. "Lucien, that was Dr. Harvey. She received the medical records you asked for, but apparently there wasn't anything of note in them."

"I didn't expect so. Thank you, Mattie," Lucien replied.

"I'm going to change out of my uniform, so I'll leave you both to it," she said with a knowing smile. Perhaps she'd heard some of their earlier conversation.

This time Lucien was the one who felt a blush sneak up his cheeks. Jean caught his expression. "You see? I told you she'd be coming home soon."

"Probably best she did. I was getting distracted."

She smirked. "Yes, I know." Jean topped the last plant with some fresh soil and removed her gardening gloves. "Lucien, I was thinking. If your theory is correct…"

"Our theory," he corrected.

"Alright, if our theory is correct, then Mildred's death was an accident. It would be a stupid and desperate move to knock over an old woman just to get away with a book."

"Quite," Lucien agreed.

"These thefts might be done with some manner of sophistication, but that panic isn't worthy of those crimes. If they are done by the same person, they must be very clever, but afraid. Lucien, I think we might be looking for someone rather young," Jean deduced.

He thought about her hypothesis for a moment. "A young person wouldn't be out of place in the library multiple times over the course of a few weeks. A young person would more easily be able to get in and around people's homes. Jean, I think you're quite right."

"What that leaves is why the thefts are being done at all. Copying Sherlock Holmes mysteries, fine, but for what purpose?" she wondered.

Lucien sighed, "That does remain to be seen."

Jean could see he was starting to work through the case in his mind. "I'm going to start dinner. Go have a drink in your study, and I'll call you when it's ready."

Charlie came home just as Jean set the roast chicken on the table. Lucien immediately began peppering him with questions about the thefts. Unfortunately, the police didn't have many leads on any of them. No witnesses had noticed anyone out of place around the time of the thefts. No evidence of a break in anywhere. No suspicious persons stood out.

Going off Jean's idea that their suspect would be young, Lucien asked, "Do any of the households have older children, perhaps around fifteen or so?"

"Actually, yes, they all do. All the homes have sons around the same year in school," Charlie realized.

Lucien slapped his hand on the table enthusiastically. "That's how he isn't raising suspicion. Our thief and accidental killer is friends or classmates with the boys in those homes."

"We'll get a list of suspects first thing tomorrow!" Charlie said excitedly.

Jean then turned the conversation to Mattie. They'd spent far too much time discussing the case, and now that they'd reached this impasse, there wasn't much else they could do now.

Later that night, Lucien sat in bed, his eyes staring unfocused at the wall opposite him. Jean came out of the bathroom rubbing lotion on her hands. "It's rather early for you," she noted, the question of why implied in her tone.

"Yes, I wanted to talk with you."

"Anything in particular, or do you just fancy a chat?" she asked facetiously, climbing into bed beside him.

"The case."

"Yes, of course. Silly of me to think you'd be focused on anything else," Jean mumbled.

Lucien tried not to smile. This was exactly the mood he wanted her in. She tended to give the best and most unexpected insight when she was a little annoyed by him. She'd blurt something brilliant without thinking, just to make him go away, and that was exactly what he needed. "We still don't have any motive. We know what he's doing, but the thefts are so minor, it doesn't make much sense why he'd bother."

"No, Lucien, I'm not going to do this with you," Jean said angrily, cutting him off.

"And why not?"

"First, it's rather late, and thinking about this is going to keep us both up. And we don't have enough information yet. Wait until the police get a suspect list for you to investigate. If we try to think about it now, we'll just get frustrated, and I am frankly far too tired to worry about this now." With that, Jean turned off the lamp by her bedside and aggressively rolled over away from him.

Lucien knew she was right. He wanted to solve the mystery, but he would need to investigate more. He said gently, "I think that might have been a bit of an overreaction, but I take your point. We won't discuss it anymore tonight."

After a brief pause, Jean rolled over to look at him in the dim light from his bedside lamp. "So you'll leave it till tomorrow?"

"Yes, darling, I will." He leaned in to kiss her softly before settling down to sleep beside her.

The next day, Lucien had patients to see, taking his attention well into the afternoon. He worked clear through lunch, deciding to go to the police station to check in on the investigation. Bill Hobart was busy compiling a list of potential suspects.

Lucien decided to take a different tack. Since it was late enough in the day, he went to each house and asked to speak to the young men living there.

"Harold, have you had any friends over recently? Anyone you can remember coming to the house on the day your mother's photographs were taken?"

Young Harold Kelly shrugged. "I dunno, Doc. I have friends come over all the time. I don't know what day the pictures were took. And that other copper already got the names of my mates from my mother."

Lucien could see this wasn't getting him anywhere. He shifted his focus. "Alright, have any of your friends seemed off this week? Maybe quieter than usual over the last few days?"

"Everyone's a bit shaken because of that librarian. We go to the library for schoolwork all the time. That old Miss Arnold's always been there. The girls are more upset than my mates."

"Alright, well if you think of anyone or notice anyone acting suspicious, I hope you'll tell the police. It's very important we find out who's been stealing. Because it's probably the same person that killed Miss Arnold."

Harold Kelly's eyes went wide, but he didn't say anything. Lucien left him and went to the next home. The Walker farm was a bit out of town, so he called on the Thompsons first. Rick Thompson had just returned home from school.

"I didn't do nothing to Dad's coronet. He never lets me touch it," Rick said defensively.

"I don't think you did anything to it, Rick, I promise. But do you remember any of your friends being interested in it? Anyone asking about it recently?"

"When Dad's home, he always plays it. Sometimes when people are here. I think the last time was when Malcolm and Dennis were 'round. But neither of them seemed to care. Especially Malcolm. He never pays attention to much of anything." Rick scoffed, "He'd rather have his nose in a book than anything else."

That piqued Lucien's interest considerably. "Tell me about Malcolm."

"Not much to tell, really. He reads a lot at school. I know he's got five little sisters he helps take care of. I don't think his father is coping well, so Malcolm helps around the house with his mother. She just had the baby twins last year. Malcolm comes here after school sometimes so he can do homework in some quiet."

"Rick, where does Malcolm live?"

"The Morris house is off the end of High Street. But Doc, Malcolm didn't steal anything. He couldn't. He's not like that," Rick insisted.

Lucien left the Thompson house and was very tempted to visit the Morris house, but for the sake of thorough investigation, he decided to go out to the Walker farm instead. He still wanted a full picture of each theft to make sure his suspicions would be in the right direction.

But as he drove, two police cars sped past him going the opposite direction. Lucien turned around so he could follow.

The cars pulled up to Agnes Clasby's house. Fearing for the elderly woman's safety, Lucien ran inside right behind Bill and Charlie.

"He's in the study," Agnes called to them all.

Lucien let the policemen do their work and instead tended to Agnes. "Are you alright? What's happened?"

Agnes huffed, "I found the Morris boy in my jewelry box! He must have come in through the bedroom window I'd left open. But I got him in the study, where the windows are painted shut, and locked him in so I could call the police."

"You aren't hurt at all?"

"Certainly not!" she replied proudly.

Charlie came out of the study with Malcolm Morris handcuffed. The boy looked as though he was about to cry.

"Agnes, could you call Jean, please, and have her meet me at the station right away?" Lucien requested. He left and drove to the police station to wait for his wife there.

Jean arrived a moment after he did. Charlie was putting Malcolm in the holding cell until they were ready to question him, so the Blakes had the main office nearly to themselves for the moment.

"Lucien, what's going on?" Jean asked frantically.

"Everyone is fine," he assured her, taking her hands in his to calm her. "Agnes Clasby found Malcolm Morris going through her jewelry box. I think this was an attempted theft like the others, but I'm not sure."

Jean nodded. "Agnes has that sapphire pendant she wears for special occasions. I bet he was going to steal that. The Blue Carbuncle story."

"Ah, that's right!"

"Was Malcolm Morris a suspect?"

"I just came from speaking with Rick Thompson, and I do think Malcolm is the one. I think we can get a confession if I ask the right questions," Lucien replied confidently.

"Well you'd better get going, then. Good luck, love." Jean gave her husband a quick kiss. "I'll be here waiting."

Lucien left to go to the interview room. Jean sat at Charlie's desk, since he was busy. Chief Superintendent Carlyle walked by and noticed her.

"Mrs. Blake, how nice to see you again. Anything I can do for you?"

Jean smiled politely. "I'm just waiting for my husband to get a confession for the thefts and the murder of Mildred Arnold."

"You know that's Constable Davis's desk?"

"Yes, I do. I do his laundry for him, so I think it's only fair I should get to sit in his chair when he's not using it."

Frank Carlyle just shook his head in exasperation. "I know my predecessors had trouble getting Dr. Blake to follow the rules, but they didn't have two Blakes to keep in line."

Jean just smiled proudly.

Meanwhile, Lucien began questioning Malcolm Morris. The boy was not eager to give any answers. Charlie hadn't been able to get him to say a single word and had begun to shout. Lucien put his hand on the constable's arm to make him pause.

"Malcolm, I'm Dr. Blake. I hear that you like to read, is that right?"

The boy perked up slightly, but said nothing.

"I liked to read when I was young, too. What's your favorite thing to read?"

Malcolm couldn't help but respond. "Mystery stories."

"Yes, I thought so. You like Sherlock Holmes?"

Malcolm nodded.

"I bet he's your favorite. My wife quite likes him as well. What do you like about him?" Lucien asked kindly.

"He's clever. The most clever. And only the most clever crimes get his attention," Malcolm answered quietly.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Lucien honed his line of questioning. "I hear you have five little sisters. I bet it's hard to get any attention at all with them running around."

"They get everything and I'm just meant to stay home and help."

"What would you do if you didn't have to stay home and help?"

A heartbroken expression crossed the boy's face. "I want to go to college. But Dad said we can't afford it with the new twins. He couldn't understand why I'd want to go to more schooling anyway."

"You're much more clever than anyone sees, aren't you, Malcolm? You just wanted people to notice, get their attention."

He nodded again.

Lucien continued, "So you turned to the things that had gotten Sherlock Holmes' attention. A Scandal in Bohemia, Silver Blaze, The Beryl Coronet? And today you were going to take Mrs. Clasby's sapphire necklace, like The Blue Carbuncle."

"I was going to give it all back, I swear! I didn't want to hurt anyone!" Malcolm cried.

"Miss Arnold had noticed you in the library, hadn't she? And you got scared and tried to run away without her catching you."

"I didn't mean for her to fall down. I just threw the book at her, but she hit her head on the floor. I thought I could make it look like the bookcases fell on her. But she made an awful sound, so I tried to move things aside so she could get out on her own." The more Malcolm explained, the more frantic he was becoming.

Lucien tried to calm him. "It was an accident, Malcolm. I know it was."

"I just wanted someone clever to notice me," he admitted in a strained voice.

"We noticed, Malcolm." Lucien felt his chest constrict and knew he couldn't be in this room anymore. "You tell Constable Davis what where all the items you took are so we can return them to their owners." He stood up and quickly left.

Jean was waiting patiently where he'd left her. She stood up when she saw him enter the office. There was a frightened look in his eyes. She immediately went to him.

"Frank, we got a confession for the thefts and for the death of Mildred Arnold," Lucien called over before taking Jean's hand tightly and swiftly walking out of the police station.

"Lucien, what's the matter?" she asked with concern.

He didn't speak just yet. They went over to his car and got inside. As soon as they were in its safe confines, Lucien took his wife in his arms and held her close. He breathed in deeply the fresh scent of her hair.

Jean nuzzled into his embrace, her head tucked securely under his chin. Whatever it was, this is what he needed from her now, and she'd gladly provide whatever comfort she could. They sat there in the car, quietly in each other's arms, for quite some time.

Eventually, Lucien loosened his grip and started the car. He drove them home in silence. Upon their arrival at the house, he went right inside to pour himself a drink. Jean followed him, unsure of what else to do.

After a big swig of scotch, Lucien finally spoke. "It's terrible to feel invisible. To be powerless to your fate, trapped in your own life." He proceeded to tell her what he'd heard Malcolm say about why he'd committed his crimes and the remorse he'd displayed. "I could have been Malcolm Morris far too easily. And just as easily, Malcolm Morris could have grown up to be me."

"What do you mean?" she asked, sitting down on the sofa and patting the space beside her for him to join her.

Lucien sat and explained, "I was always a clever child, which my mother and father both took notice of. But after Mother died, Dad sent me away. Luckily, I was at school and being clever could be rewarded. But imagine if he'd let me stay and just ignored me? I don't know what I would have done to get noticed."

"I don't think you'd have started a life of literary-inspired crime, Lucien."

"Much of our success in life is dictated by the opportunities we're afforded, more so than our abilities. If I'd grown up in a house where my only avenue in life was to care for the younger children, who can say where I might have ended up?"

Jean took his hand in hers. "Regardless, you're here now. And because of your compassion and understanding, that boy will probably be afforded some leniency. There's hope for him yet."

Lucien brought the back of her hand up to his lips, letting them linger as their eyes met. Jean smiled softly, and he was reminded what hope felt like.

 **The End**


End file.
